


Feminine Products

by takethembystorm



Series: Treat Me Like a Princess [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Dork Adrien Agreste, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Menstruation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Treat Me Like a Princess!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 14:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6199078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethembystorm/pseuds/takethembystorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chat’s been Marinette’s errand boy for a while now, but he doesn’t really mind.  Anything for a friend, right?</p><p>Well, almost anything.</p><p>For the full experience, it is recommended that you first read clairelutra’s original oneshot <a href="http://clairelutra.tumblr.com/post/135436286530/with-mighty-apologies-to-miraculer-caprette">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feminine Products

**Author's Note:**

> A story of [clairelutra](http://clairelutra.tumblr.com) and [caprette](http://caprette.tumblr.com)’s Treat Me Like a Princess universe. Inspiration taken from [here](http://clairelutra.tumblr.com/post/140178257175/princessau-marinette-has-had-enough-had-more) (thank you, chez-pezeater), and the original oneshot that started this whole mess [here](http://clairelutra.tumblr.com/post/135436286530/with-mighty-apologies-to-miraculer-caprette). Many thanks to clairelutra for letting me play in her universe and for editing this.

“Heyo!” Chat calls out cheerfully as he sticks his head down through the skylight. He jerks it out of the way as a ballistic pillow nearly brains him, then swings downwards, landing in a crouch at the top of the little flight of stairs. He catches the second pillow as it thumps into his chest and tosses it onto Marinette’s bed.

He frowns.

Marinette is slumped over her chaise lounge, her head towards him. There’s usually more life in her at this time of night. At the very least she’d be ordering him around or be busy doing something, trying to ignore him, or, y’know, _something._ Seeing her listless and lifeless like this is unsettling.

“Marinette?” he ventures.

“Fuck off, Chat,” Marinette groans, flipping him the bird.

He blinks at that.

“Um,” he says, descending the staircase like a man crossing a minefield. “Are you all right?”

She lifts her head and glares at him blearily. “Chat,” she growls, “I am currently in incredible pain and bleeding into half a tissue box. I would appreciate it if you would kindly fuck off and not bother me tonight.”

Her statement has the opposite of the intended effect. Chat rushes forwards and is by her side in the blink of an eye, his gaze traveling frantically over her head to toes.

“Ohmygodareyouallrightwhathappenedwhere’sthecutohgodweneedtogetpressureonit”—

“Chat”—

—“IhaveadriverI’llcallhimnownowaitambulancewillbefasterwhere’syourphoneweneedtocall112”—

“Chat!” Marinette punctuates the word with a slap.

He stops and stares at her, hyperventilating, his pupils blown and panicked.

“I’m fine,” she says slowly, enunciating each word.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, voice high and whimpering with hysteria.

“I’m on my period, moron,” she says, rolling her eyes before slumping back down. “Even you’ve got to know what one of those is.”

“Oh.” His breathing slows from its screaming panicked rate to something saner. “Okay, yeah, I know what one of those is. Sure. Yeah, I know.”

He frowns abruptly. “Don’t you have, like, things for that, though?”

Marinette rolls over onto her back. Chat tries to keep from looking anywhere impolite—don’t notice how her shirt stretches over her chest and stomach, don’t notice how her shirt stretches over her chest and stomach—but the front of her loose sweatpants bulges outwards noticeably. Probably the “half of a tissue box” she mentioned.

“I do,” she says, grunting as she rolls to an upright sitting position. She blows away a few stray hairs with a sigh. “But Mom and Dad were busy all last week, so those things you mentioned didn’t get bought and I ran out.”

She growls and presses a hand tightly against her abdomen as another cramp hits her. “I swear to god I’m getting birth control.”

At his startled glance she sighs again and rolls her eyes. “Stops my cycle, including periods. Alya uses it. She used to have it a lot worse than me until she got it.”

“Um,” Chat says after a minute. “Can I help in any way?”

A sudden idea sparks across her mind. Chat can tell by the way her face is suddenly creased with an evil, calculating smile.

Well, too late to run.

“Why, yes, you can,” she says, her tone syrupy sweet.

Okay, maybe not too late. He takes a step back.

“Get me my things,” she commands imperiously.

 _Now_ it’s too late.

“What things?” he asks.

“Pads. Tampons. Any brand, but be sure to get the ones for heavy flow. Oh, and a quart of chocolate ice cream. And some extra-strength Tylenol.”

“Why ice cream?”

“I want it.” She sticks her nose up at him, smiling triumphantly. “Go now, or be forevermore banished from my kingdom.”

Chat hesitates for a long while. Well, this wasn’t going to be horrendously embarrassing or anything. But she was in pain, and against that, his reputation could hang.

“As you wish, Princess,” he finally says with a gallant bow, before he leaps out of her trapdoor and into the night.

Marinette stares at her trapdoor for a minute with bated breath before she lets herself relax, slumping back down onto her lounge.

She’d done it. She’d finally, finally done it. It had taken, what, nearly eight freaking weeks but she’d finally broken him. She was going to miss him, and the ersatz friendship they’d built, but she’d finally done it. Her identity is safe.

Forty minutes later, she hears the familiar thump of boots on her terrace.

“Princess?” Chat says as he comes down carefully, a pair of rustling plastic bags in a hand. He comes down and proffers them to her. She takes one and opens it. Pads and tampons, two boxes of each. The other holds a quart-sized mason jar of chocolate ice cream, cool mist curling away from its frost-coated sides. She squints at the hand-written label on the lid.

“Berthillon?” She looks up at him, eyes wide.

Chat shrugs a shoulder and looks down at his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. “Father indulges. I have access to the freezer.”

“You didn’t have to,” she says.

He shrugs again, as though this is answer enough. Maybe he realizes this a moment later, because he adds, “You asked.”

“You forgot the Tylenol, though,” she says.

His face flashes into panicked terror again.

“It’s all right,” she says. “Thank you. Really.”

She thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “Wait here.” She clambers downstairs for a couple spoons, taking the opportunity to pop a pair of Tylenol. She tosses the spoons at him as she climbs back up, grabs the package of tampons, and goes into the bathroom to take care of business.

“Can you find my _Legally Blonde_ DVD?” she calls at him before she shuts the door.

Five minutes later, she comes out to see him still standing there, looking bemused, the spoons in one hand, the DVD in another.

“Seat,” she commands, snatching one of the spoons from him and dragging her comforter from her bed. She burritos herself in it before grabbing the jar of ice cream, thrusting it at Chat.

“Open,” she commands. He does.

She savors the first spoonful before she starts up the movie. She looks back at Chat, still standing, still bemused.

“Grab a seat,” she says slowly. “And watch this with me. And help me finish the ice cream, I don’t want it going to waste.”

“Oh.” He grins widely at her. “As you wish, Princess.”

She’s feeling better when she wakes up the next morning. Up until school, that is.

“Marinette!” Alya shouts, catching her friend by the neck and using her to slow to a stop. “Marinette!”

“Jeez, Alya, what?”

A cellphone gets shoved in front of her face. “He’s got a girlfriend!”

Oh god. If people find out about her and Chat, she’ll never hear the end of it. More importantly, Papillon will probably find out, putting her parents and probably Alya and Nino at risk—

She squints closer at the screen. The picture is fairly high-quality, if blurry, and it’s more than good enough for her to see that the blond in the picture, cradling two boxes each of pads and tampons in an arm, isn’t Chat Noir.

It’s _Adrien freaking Agreste._

That had to be a coincidence. Had to be.

Had to be.


End file.
